


Game

by mudgems



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-02 22:59:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11519274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mudgems/pseuds/mudgems
Summary: Daniel likes to play dirty.





	Game

Daniel is a smug little bastard. He knows exactly what he’s done. 

He has that insufferably innocent smile on his face, the one that has all of them fooled, but not Jack. Jack is trying really hard -- really, heroically fucking hard -- not to stare at him from across the room, to not let the dark, hooded, predatory gaze that wants to slip onto his face from giving him away. There are too many people around, and besides, he wants to win this game.

Daniel’s eyes meet his between the crowd of mingling well wishers, and he knows with a humiliating certainty that he’s already lost. God dammit.

Daniel brings the beer bottle to his lips slowly, long fingers cradling the neck like he’s fondling a lover, and tips the thing with obscene, gentle care. Jack is transfixed by the way his throat moves with each swallow, the brief closing of his eyes as he savours the taste, the hint of tongue darting to collect the last drops from the glass rim. They are separated by an entire room full of people, and yet it’s as though they are completely alone. The world is narrowed, empty of sound, and the display takes on a slow-motion quality that has prickles of sweat breaking out along Jack’s upper lip. 

Daniel’s eyes slide to his again, and there it is. The subtle, knowing smirk. 

A woman sweeps in to capture Daniel’s attention and time speeds up to its normal rate. The scene zooms out and Daniel’s gone again, once more the genial guest, clasping hands and trading pleasantries, the softly-spoken, socially awkward exterior securely back in place. 

Jack is half hard in his pants, his ears burning. God fucking dammit.

The evening continues along this vein, and it’s got to be the longest of Jack’s life. He doesn’t remember torture sessions that dragged quite like this party has. He even goes so far as to mingle, attaching himself to small groups of near strangers in an effort to distract himself, to stay away from the one thing in the room more dangerous than whatever the hell Carter has brought to this shindig, sitting almost untouched in its ceramic dish on the buffet table.

He tries to save face. To engage in conversation and prove to Daniel that he’s not at all affected. That he’s relaxed. That the little shit can’t always get what he wants.

Daniel likes to play dirty.

The meandering, excruciatingly dull description of a recent round of unremarkable golf is almost enough to take his mind off the perpetual tightness at his crotch, and thankfully he’s not been required to comment beyond the odd non-committal grunt. He senses the presence at his back like he has his own, personal early warning system. A full bottle appears in front of him, beads of condensation sliding down its sides.

“Refill?”

Daniel’s voice is almost to his ear, his body heat scorching the skin of Jack’s forearm where he’s reaching around. He’s close, but he’s not quite touching. It takes all of Jack’s willpower to stay exactly where he is.

Some jerkwad decides this is the perfect time to squeeze his way through the throng for another canapé, and places a hand lightly on Daniel’s shoulder with a polite “Excuse me.”

“Sure, no problem,” Daniel tells him, and leans forward to give the guy space to pass by. The movement presses nearly the entire length of Daniel’s body along Jack’s side, and he swears he can feel every seam, belt loop and buckle digging into his flesh.

Daniel rights himself again with a casual shuffle forward and pushes the beer into Jack’s lax hand, plucking an empty bottle from the other. Jack has to force his fingers to clutch the fresh drink before he lets it fall and forgets to say thank you. Daniel gives the group a friendly smile, a quick ‘hi’ and then disappears again into the crowd.

The Daniel-shaped imprint radiating heat with every thud of his pulse has Jack’s dick twitching with renewed interest, and he has to excuse himself rather abruptly from the group. He heads for the bathroom, depositing his beer on the granite worktop as he passes the kitchen with an overloud clink. The host’s kids smile at him innocuously from the photo portraits lining the hallway and he exchanges a gruff greeting with a guy coming the other way. 

“Downstairs bathroom’s occupied, sir,” the airman -- Wilkes, or something? -- tells him as he passes.

Jack turns on his heel and heads for the stairs. The spacious family bathroom is blue and white and nautically themed. There are knots, rope and shells everywhere, the bathtub lined with a multitude of fragranced products. He fills his hands with cold water and splashes his face over the sink. He’s reaching for a sailboat-embroidered hand towel when he notices the reflection in the mirror and jumps.

“Having fun?”

Daniel stands in the doorway bouncing on his toes, a mischievous glint in his eye and a shit-eating grin on his face, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. Jack swallows back a growl and scrubs vigorously at his face, annoyed that he’s been caught off guard. “Don’t you ever knock?”

“Don’t you ever lock a bathroom door?”

The towel won't quite go back on the rail with the same neat folds as when he’d removed it, but Jack doesn’t care enough to fuss. “You’re perky tonight,” he observes somewhat petulantly.

“Just enjoying myself,” Daniel replies, looking around the room with faux nonchalance. “Nice place they have here.”

Jack watches in silence as Daniel makes a slow circuit of the room, hands trailing along surfaces, eyes wandering with deliberate care, fingers brushing the requisite knickknacks with that not-quite-suggestive way of his, winding Jack up in the way he knows always works. Jack watches Daniel watching him, waiting for a reaction from the corner of his eye, both of them doing a piss poor job of faking disinterest. Jack waits, makes Daniel wait for it too.

“Can a guy take a piss in peace around here?” Jack eventually says, and Daniel gives him a sly smile.

“Right. Sorry.” He’s not sorry at all, the little shit.

Jack crowds him, walking him backwards towards the door, and stretches his arm out to hold it open. Before Daniel can take another step to cross the threshold, Jack takes a fistful of his shirt front and yanks him back inside, closing the door behind him.

“Um, Jack…?”

Daniel’s body is hard and angular and hot as Jack crushes him against the door, his hand snaking past his hip to engage the lock with an audible snick. Jack takes his time and doesn’t move an inch. He lets his eyes rake over Daniel’s face, his mouth, his neck, fixing on his pulse point, the skin there throbbing just slightly. 

Daniel squirms and places his hands on Jack’s shoulders. He gives an experimental push, and Jack responds with a languorous roll of his hips, grinding himself against the answering hardness he finds there.

A breath catches in Daniel’s throat and he stills, lips parted and pupils blown and attention absolutely focussed. Jack lets his head fall forward, falling just short of actual contact, and has his breath gust oh so quietly over the column of throat exposed to him. “What are you doing, Daniel?”

It takes a moment for him to respond, the fingers on Jack’s shoulders curling just slightly. “What am I… What?”

“Doing, Daniel.” Jack presses in again and moves his mouth to Daniel’s ear. “What are you doing?”

There’s a breathy pause, and then Daniel straightens imperceptibly beneath Jack’s body. “You’re the one that has me pinned to the wall,” he says with a pointed look.

A feral grin is threatening to break out onto Jack’s face, but he resists the temptation and keeps his gaze cool, his eyes going to Daniel’s mouth. Daniel licks his lips nervously and the sight goes straight to Jack’s cock. Jesus.

“It’s a door, Daniel,” he says when he’s recovered some saliva. “And you started this.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jack ignores this. With another slow thrust of his hips he claims the skin at the base of Daniel’s throat with his mouth, running it up to his jaw and travelling along to his ear. He lets himself smile this time, delighted to hear the small gasps of pleasure the actions elicit. 

The hands on Jack’s shoulders are no longer pushing but clutching, and Daniel tilts his head back to grant him more access. “Jack, stop,” he says, his body urging him on, “someone might--“

Jack silences him with his mouth and the slick slide of tongues, and he knows he has him when Daniel’s hands find their way to the base of his head, holding Jack’s mouth to his. It’s hot and it’s messy and it’s urgent, and their breath gusts between them in their need for more. 

The friction just isn’t doing it for Jack anymore, so while he has Daniel distracted he eases off a bit, just enough to give his hands room to move. He starts with his own, because he doesn’t want to give the game away just yet, then when he’s freed himself gets to work on Daniel. He has no hope of being covert so he goes for speed, fingers working the belt buckle and tugging the zipper with much practised dexterity. When he slides his hand in and palms Daniel’s dick, the mouth under his jerks back with a sharp intake of breath.

“Careful,” Jack scolds him as the back of Daniel’s head thumps the door.

“Jack,” Daniel gasps, “we can’t--“

“Can. Am.” Jack gives the flesh in his hand a possessive squeeze and Daniel groans. “You’ve been asking for this all night.”

He watches with relish as the slow dawn of realisation floods across Daniel’s face: he’d taken the game too far. He hadn’t expected Jack to bite, at least not until they got home. He’s had his bluff called, and there’s panic twisting deliciously amongst the desire. 

Someone experiments with the door handle from the landing side, and Daniel goes stock still.

“Occupado,” Jack calls casually and gives Daniel another squeeze, relishing the sharp intake of breath this earns him. Whoever it is goes away, but it’s given him what he needs. He has the upper hand now, and they both know it.

“I’d better work fast,” Jack tells Daniel’s earlobe, and drops to his knees before there can be any more protest.


End file.
